Birthday Blues
by hctiB-notsoB
Summary: Carlton/Shawn WARNING: slightly angsty, then smut, then fluff...in that order. "His first birthday home in tweleve years. Maybe next year will be better."
1. Birthday Blues

AN: Let me just say...it's a bitch and a half trying to get your shit to look the way you want when uploading on this site!  
...That is all.

* * *

_Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear self, happy birthday to me._

-1-

"Hey Gus. ... Oh, thanks dude. ... I know. I can't believe I'm so old! ... Gus, thirty-one is like ancient. ... Yes, and you're ancient. I'm gonna start getting gray hair and stuff soon. ... Hey! I can worry. I'm totally capable of worrying. ... Hmm, nah. I'm actually not feeling up to partying or anything. ... Nah, you can give me my present at the office tomorrow and treat me to some Chinese. ... Yeah, it'll be like always. ... Well, I'm going to have lunch with my dad in a bit. ... I uh - I think I'm gonna go visit my mom. ... Yeah, I'll be fine Gus. ... Alright, talk to you later man."

Shawn flipped his phone closed and stared. Maybe he should take Gus up on his bar hopping offer? His birthday was the only time his friend ever even suggested going to a bar with him; it seemed like such a waste not to take Gus from his comfort zone. With the way he was feeling now though, Shawn knew he would probably end up a mopey drunk and ruin the whole night.

He rolled his head to the side and looked at his coo-coo clock. 11 o'clock and he was still just laying in bed, despite being awake for an hour. Not unusual for him actually, but Shawn really didn't feel like getting up and facing the day. Now that Gus had called and broken his meditative state, there was no going back and staring listlessly at his glow-in-the-dark star-covered ceiling. The only reason he answered, really, was because he didn't remember making Selena his cell's ring tone. It brought back memories of his mom teaching him to Cha-Cha when he was eleven.

-2-

Shawn met his dad at the same diner they'd go to every Sunday when he was a kid. He knew his dad knew it was the same diner, and he knew his dad knew that he knew it was the same diner. What he didn't know was, if this was suppose to add some kind of symbolism to the day. He was never one for tact so, unless they were lying or trying to hide something, Shawn had a hard time figuring out others' subtlety. When he walked in the small establishment, he was half expecting to see his dad in the third booth from the door on the left, the one that used to be unspokenly reserved for the Spencer men on Sundays. Instead he was sitting on a stool at the counter.

They started out with talking about the weather ("Living by the freaking ocean, you'd think we'd at least have some breeze!"), before moving on to Shawn's recent cases. Next came the reprimanding, which no talk with his father was complete without, while Shawn ignored Henry's roundabout way of saying he's proud of the work Shawn's done. After running out of robbery suspects and food to poke at, Henry reached over to the stool next to him and then handed him a wooden case. Shawn opened it and almost smiled at the paint set inside, but bit his lip just in time to catch it. It was one of Shawn's favorite hobbies, and his most hated by Henry because he'd picked it up from his mother.

"It's got some special paint or something, too. For you to do stuff with your bike."

"Thanks, dad."

"No problem."

That's all that had to be said, so that's all that was said. They both purposely avoided saying what else this day marked in their lives.

-3-

"Shawn!"

He turned and saw a bobbing yellow head trying to make its way through the crowd. Said yellow head ended up being Juliet, so he flashed her a bright smile as she walked up to him. "Hey Jules."

"Hey. What's up with the reclusion? It took quite a bit of stalking to finally catch up to you."

"Reclusion? Me?" Shawn put on a mock pained face and held a hand to his chest. "Are you saying I'm anti-social? I'm hurt Juliet! Deeply, deeply wounded!"

She kept a serious visage, but the twitch in her lips ruined her poker-face. "So I see. The knife in your back is so noticeable."

He leaned in and tried for a conspiracy voice, but he ended up with an Irish whisper because of the noise from the street. "Actually, I'm trying to lay low. The spirits predicted my imminent demise."

"Oh really?" She actually looked a little worried, and Shawn's wondering if Lassie's rubbing off on her and making his only other fun friend get a little too serious.

"Yup. Thus is why I must now become a hermit and live with the pineapple people in a cave."

"Well, at least you're not stuck on an island with a dead volleyball." Juliet was trying not to laugh now. Much better.

"Pfft. Dead volleyballs are so last year. Dead fruit's all the rage now."

"Oh!" She reached into her purse and pulls out a square ("Rectangle, Shawn!" the Gus-voice in his head screams) shaped object, wrapped in shiny blue paper. "Happy birthday Shawn."

"Aw, thanks Jules." He took the gift, already knowing it's a book, and gets a 'you're welcome', a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. Then she's walking backwards, saying good-bye and that he better stop by and see her tomorrow.

Shawn tore off the shiny blue paper and stopped when it's half-way unwrapped. It took a hard bump on the shoulder from a stranger to get him out of his trance. He stared at the book, and traced the gold title with his thumb. Stomach clenching half in nostalgia and half in disdain, Shawn threw the book in the nearest trash bin, still partly wrapped. It's not that he didn't like Stephen King, but the day had enough undertones already. Besides, he really didn't have much to relate to John Smith with, despite what Juliet believed.

-4-

Shawn bought one geranium from a random flower shop on his way to the cemetery. It would soon be almost twelve years since he'd last been there, but the route was still clearly mapped out in his mind. The same route the herse he rode in took. And he could picture her headstone just as clearly. Fifteenth row, twenty-second headstone to the left. He took the dead, wilted flowers from the bronze vase and replaced them with the single geranium. Sitting down in the lush, green grass, right in front of the polished rock, Shawn's mind blanked as he stared at the engraved letters. Twelve years ago, he'd visited her grave almost every day for nearly two months. He'd had so much to say to her back then, and now, it was hard to get out a single word.

"Hey mom. I ...uh." Shawn opened his mouth and closed it, and stared at the grave site. He couldn't help thinking how he must look like a fish, but somehow, that didn't seem very funny right now. "I'm sorry. Sorry that I haven't been by to see you in so long. And um," He stopped to take a deep breath and rub his eyes. It wasn't because he was crying though; Spencer men never cry. He was just tired, that's all.

"I'm sorry I never forgave you. For, you know. For walking out on my birthday. I know that you didn't plan it or anything. It was just convenient that dad broke your last nerve that day. And, I know how guilty you always felt for leaving and how hard it must have been for you after. I was stupid when I was younger, we all know that. But I understand now, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how I blamed you before, and I do forgive you for doing what you had to do."

Shawn got up to leave, but stopped just as he turned. Hesitant, he faced the stone, leaned down and gently placed his lips on the top of the cool rock. "I love you mom."

His first birthday home since Anna Spencer died twelve years ago. Maybe next year will be better.

-5-

He wasn't one to get drunk when depressed, or depressed in general. Then again, he's normally drunk on his birthday before he has the time to get depressed. Which is what he was all set to do, when a knocking on the door kept him from beer number six. At first he attempted to ignore it, because he wasn't sure who would be coming over at almost nine at night without calling first. None of his Santa Barbara friends did that. After five minutes, the pounding finally stopped and Shawn thought the person had gone away. Wasn't the first time he'd been wrong though.

"Spencer. I know you're home. Open up."

'Oh boy.' Shawn thought as he got up to answer the door. 'I haven't done anything to warrant an arrest...right?'

A quick look out the peep hole confirmed that it had in fact been Carlton Lassiter pounding on his door. "Yes, Carlton?" Shawn ignored the slight slur in his voice and hoped the detective would too. Carlton seemed to stop short at the use of his first name coming from Shawn's lips and gaped for a moment. Eventually, Shawn realized it was up to him to get the ball rolling, because as fun as it was to turn Lassi into a large-mouthed bass (damn his father and those creepy fish trophies), Shawn really wanted to get back to being drunk. "I sense you are about to tell me why you're standing in my doorway," He said, lifting a hand to his temple and trying to keep his body steady as he closed his eyes.

The detective stood with his hands behind him, almost rocking back on his heels as he stared at the fake psychic. To Shawn, it seemed like he didn't quite remember what he'd come to say, before his mind clicked back into place. "You didn't come to the station today and you weren't at your office."

"Oh. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'll be back around tomorrow."

"But it's not normal for you to not be at either place, especially the station."

"I wasn't feeling well."

"You're not sick. Well, besides in the head." He muttered the last part under his breath, but Shawn still heard.

"Four out of five doctors agree with you, but that's beside the point."

"It's your birthday."

Shawn blinked. 'Well that came somewhere from left field.' "So? I wanted a day off to relax." He was hoping Carlton would stop pushing the conversation into this direction. But he was forever relentless.

"Then why'd you say it was because you were sick?" Shawn sighed and leaned his head against the wood of his doorway. He heard Carlton shuffle a bit, so he peeked one eye open and stared in shock for a moment. "It was the only thing I know you like."

A pineapple. No bow, no ribbon, no shiny paper. Just a pineapple. And it didn't remind him of his mom. The gift wasn't for a talent passed on by her, or a book by her favorite author. He didn't even remember if she liked pineapple. Shawn took the fruit silently and knew Carlton was probably becoming disturbed by the slow, easy smile spreading across his face, but he couldn't help it. For the past decade and a half it had been difficult to even think about himself, instead of his mother, on his birthday.

Carlton shifted from foot to foot as Shawn stared at the fruit. "So, happy birthday Spencer." He moved to walk back to his car before Shawn's voice had him stopping and turning back to the apartment door.

"You want to come in for a beer?"


	2. After Morning

Five things registered in his mind as Shawn entered the world of consciousness. The first was someone gently tracing patterns on his hipbone, slightly calloused fingers making his skin tickle. When he couldn't help shifting his body under the touch and the fingers quit their tracing, number two was his own voice asking the someone "Don't stop?". The third was said someone stiffening behind him in bed. Number four was the fact that...well, that someone was in his bed. (At least, he hoped it was his bed... He was pretty sure it was his bed.) Finally, number five was who said person was. They were kind of out of order, but that's generally how they clicked into place. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he was thinking about the discount on Tuesdays at Tropical Smoothies, and how a HawiianBerry would really hit the spot right about now.

It took some struggling with the sheets, but he was finally able to turn around and was greeted with pretty, freaked out blue eyes.

Shawn blinked.

Carlton blinked.

Shawn blinked again.

Carlton blinked again.

And Shawn wasn't sure if they were having a blinking contest or multiple staring contests that just didn't last very long.

"Well, this is the least akward morning after I've ever had."

Carlton stared at him like he was slightly out of his mind. "Least akward?"

"Yeah. I mean, at least I know your name." Shawn flashed him what he hoped was a charming smile. Honestly, he was counting down the seconds before Carlton got up and ran for the hills.

"Well I hope to God you remember my name. You only had nine beers." How the detective managed to sound condescending and still in shock was a mystery to Shawn.

"I only drink like three times a year, so excuse me if I can't hold my liquor like you pickled Irish men." At least Carlton wasn't running away yet.

"What does my being Irish have to do with being able to hold my liquor?" He actually sounded rather indignant, propping himself up on his elbows, and Shawn wondered how many times Carlton's had this discussion.

"Oh come on, you guys invented whiskey."

"So. The Germans invented beer, nobody calls them drunks." Shawn raised an eyebrow, his confusion momentarily making him forget about the pounding behind his eyes.

"Germans didn't invent beer, they're just really good at making it. Not as good as your dear St. Patrick though." It was strange, how easy their bickering came, even in their current...situation.

"Just because I'm Irish does not mean-" Carlton cut himself off with a small groan and let his head fall back on the pillow. Shawn thinks it's because he's finally realized that he's having an argument with a psychic while naked in said psychic's bed. (A scan around the room had confirmed that Shawn was, in fact, in his own bed.)

"We just had our first fight, didn't we? We did! And we're not even going steady yet."

Carlton sighed and got up from the bed, pushing the covers away. "We're not going steady."

"I know. That's what I said." Shawn couldn't suppress the disappointment as Carlton pulled on his boxers.

"No. You said we're not going steady _yet_." The detective gathered up his clothes, before turning to look at Shawn. "Uhh..."

He pointed to the door. "Bathroom's right across the hall." Carlton nodded once, then turned to walk out the door while Shawn admired the view.

It was really tempting to just curl back up under the covers and close his eyes, but he knew that wouldn't be fair to Carlton. Then again, it's really not fair to his brain to keep his eyes open like this. Shawn groaned as he tried to get his mind to work properly and remember what happened last night. He was fairly sure they'd had sex, his very sore rear end could attest to that.

* * *

_Their bodies melded together, and Shawn wasn't sure where he started and Carlton began. He couldn't rightfully call it making love, or even sex. It was pure and simple lust, need, desperation; all from Shawn. Carlton didn't seem to have realized what was going on quite yet, but he figured the detective would catch up with him soon enough. Shawn was nearly clawing at the other man's clothes ("please, Lassiter, please") by the time the lips against his began pressing back, and he wasn't exactly sure how they'd ended up in his bedroom. At the moment, he really didn't mind not knowing._

_It wasn't passionate or beautiful; if anything, it was incredibly messy and sloppy. Shawn was well past pleasantly buzzed, his lips felt practically numb, and it was difficult for him to tell what he was kissing really. Thankfully, Carlton made up for Shawn's lack of coordination, ("I need this, please Lassiter") undressing them both quickly and pushing the covers to the end of the bed. When they were both finally bare and pressed together, it seemed as though a switch flicked on in the other man's brain, as he tried to pull back from Shawn's grip. He'd have none of that 'thinking' stuff now though, and he pulled Carlton flush against him._

_"Don't stop."_

_Always the sensible one, it was Carlton who remembered the condom and lube before they went too far. It took some rummaging through the night stand, but he finally found them. The other man didn't think to prepare Shawn, and as he pressed into him ("fuck, oh fuck"), the faux psychic thanked God for alcohol while he forced himself to relax. Carlton, forever a detective at heart, didn't miss the way Shawn's face scrunched up in pain. Shawn had to wrap his legs around Carlton's waist to keep him from pulling back out._

_"Don't stop."_

_It was difficult to explain ("please, just please"), and he certainly wasn't going to try while his mouth and brain seemed so out of sync with each other, but he needed this. He's heard people call sex a cure-all before, and he's never believed them. He was a believer now._

_It hurt, much more than it normally did with another man because of the lack of preparation. Yet Shawn couldn't force his mouth form the word 'stop' without preceding it with 'don't.' The pain set him on edge, even semi-numb from the beers. It gave him something to focus on though ("more please Carlton"), something besides the quickly fading ache in his chest. The first few thrusts were stuttering, unsure, and Shawn's positive that Carlton's never had sex with another guy before now. Eventually though, Carlton builds up a rhythm. Slow at first, still not wanting to hurt him, Shawn thinks. But when he starts meeting each thrust, panting and moaning, Carlton seems to gain confidence. And the thrusts become deeper, harder, and faster, and Shawn really can't help wondering if he's in heaven or hell._

_"Don't stop."_

_Shawn's really not sure what to call the noise that comes out of his throat when Carlton's cock presses against his sweet spot, but the detective seems to notice that whatever he did was a good thing ("really fucking good, oh god, yes"), and he angles his thrusts to do it again. And again, and again and ("oh god, don't stop") again. It's not long after that Shawn can't seem to handle the overload of sensations entering his mind. His legs tighten around Carlton's waist while his muscles tighten around Carlton's cock. He came, panting a mantra ("don't stop, please, don't stop")._

_A few thrusts later, and Carlton follows Shawn over the edge, his heavy breathing next to Shawn's ear sending chills down his spine. Thankfully, he didn't completely collapse onto Shawn, supporting half his weight on his elbows. He pressed lazy kisses along the side of Shawn's neck and shoulder, and Shawn can't help wondering if he deserves to be in heaven._

_"Don't stop."_

* * *

Coffee: the traditional morning after mediator. Something to stare at so you didn't have to stare at them and something to sip to stall for time.

Shawn downed one cup, then made sure there was another for both of them when Carlton came out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Shawn thought he looked dressed and refreshed, ready for work despite that it was almost ten in the morning and he'd surely have to call in sick. He took a sip from his cup, while Carlton reached for his, and waited for the akward silence to be broken by one of them. Evidently, the detective didn't feel up to talking this mid-morning.

"So... Did you have your heterosexual freak out?"

Carlton's eyebrow raised to meet his strong Irish hairline. "My what?"

"You know. The thing where you realize you're obviously not as straight as you thought you were. Then, you like, go through the five stages of mourning while you greive for your heterosexuality."

"...Five stages of mourning?"

"Yeah. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. For some reason, 'straight' guys always mourn the loss of their heterosexuality," Shawn explained, complete with air quotes and all.

Carlton's right eyebrow rose to meet the left. "No... I don't think I've had that yet."

Shawn 'hmm'ed and nodded while he sipped his coffee, and Carlton did the same. He couldn't help thinking that they looked an awful lot like bobble-heads with all the nodding, which really wasn't helping his hang-over. But the thought wouldn't leave his head and soon enough, there was a smile that wouldn't leave his face. Carlton was still looking into his coffee...and still nodding. Shawn snorted into his cup and had to put it back on the table, lest he drop the steaming ceramic. Carlton looked up sharply at the noise and he stared for a moment at the sight of Shawn, grin on his face and shoulders shaking. He's sure the detective doesn't know what he's laughing at, but then there's a grin on the other man's face, and the reason for it doesn't seem to matter. Carlton's elbows propped up on the table, he hides his face in his hands while the smile gets bigger, and Shawn sees his shoulders shaking as well.

Once all the tension's been replaced with laughter, they're finally able to stop their giggles and wipe their watering eyes. His ribs hurt, as well as his head, but it's a good pain. He's slightly breathless when Shawn finally manages to ask, "You want something to eat?"

And there's still a smile on Carlton's face when he answers, "Sure."

And Shawn really wasn't expecting Carlton to stand and lean over the table to kiss him. He's still breathless when he says, "Don't stop."


	3. Kiss and Tell

_All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them._ -Galileo Galilei

-1-

"...No Shawn."

"What?"

"No Shawn."

"What did I do?"

"You can't do this!"

"Do what?!"

"You can't be dating the man that wants to put us in cuffs!"

Shawn sighed for the third time that morning. Gus was taking this just as he'd suspected he would. "Gus, he doesn't want to put us in cuffs." Shawn stopped, tilted his head slightly and thought. "Okay, well he doesn't want to put you in cuffs. ...And I really wouldn't mind him putting me in some."

Gus' face contorted into what Shawn had dubbed 'the constipation face' and gestured helplessly, as if his hands would help get his point across."Ok, firstly, ew! (You know handcuffs are hot Gus.) Secondly, what ever happened to our 'No sharing' rule we set when we were seventeen? (Went out the window when I blew our school quaterback.) And lastly...Shawn!" Correction: Gus was taking this worse than he'd suspected he would.

"What?!"

"Carlton Lassiter, Shawn?"

"Yes."

"The detective, Carlton Lassiter?"

"Yes."

"You're dating him?"

"Yes."

"As in, 'going steady' dating?"

Shawn couldn't help the smile at that. "Yes."

"Shawn!"

"Yes?"

-2-

At first he toyed with the notion of keeping it from his father, at least until Shawn knew he and Carlton were serious about this relationship. But Shawn knew his father, and knew he'd find out about this eventually. Either Gus would slip up and Henry would connect the dots, or Vick would call and ask him why Shawn was acting strange at the station, ...or worse... Of course his dad already knew about Shawn's very flexible sexuality, so it shouldn't be too bad.

"So, me and Lassy are dating." Shawn said it as quickly as he could, then shoveled food into his mouth to give him an excuse not to talk if he needed it.

Henry's fork was half way to his mouth when he stopped and stared at Shawn with his mouth slightly open. It took a second, but Henry finally seemed to realize that the food wouldn't be making it to his mouth any time soon, and he put the utensil down. "Please tell me you're talking about the dog."

-3-

She stuttered helplessly for a few moments, blinked thrice, opened her mouth, and then closed it before she could even form a single word. While she untied her tongue, Shawn pushed Carlton back until he was at arms length and pulled his shirt back down his stomach. He could see Carlton giving her his famous evil eye, and Shawn really didn't blame him for the glare this time.

"Was there something you needed in the men's bathroom O'Hara?"

Juliet blinked again, then finally got out her very first syllable. "Uh, n-no. I just..." She looked longingly back at the door for a second, but held her ground. "I just- I saw you come in after Shawn did, and after you both didn't come out for a few minutes I started getting worried, 'cause you two, you know... and..." She trailed off at the end of her small ramble and blinked again at the couple.

Shawn grinned and shifted his pants discretely. "Yeah, no worries there Jules. We get along pretty well now." He gave her a conspiratorial wink that made her face flush.

"Uh huh." Juliet continued to stare until Shawn's pointed look and Carlton's glare penetrated the fog in her mind while she visited whatever planet she was on. Another blink, and she finally seemed to get the hint when Shawn jerked his head at the door. "Oh! Right, well... I'll just- I'll lock the door on my way out."

They both waited until the giggles coming through the door faded away before getting back to their previous activity.

-4-

Shawn was more than surprised when Carlton agreed, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth (well, really he did it quite often, and usually got bit in the process). At Carlton's insistence, they stopped to get flowers. Shawn had already told him it wasn't necessary, but showed him her favorite flowers all the same. He directed the detective along the familiar roads and led him down past the rows once they arrived. When they finally reached the certain stone that was their destination, he sat down in front of it and pulled on Carlton's jacket until the older man did the same.

"Carlton Lassiter, meet Anna Spencer. Mom, this is Lassy." Shawn paused for a second, actually listening to the stone. "No, he's not! This one's serious, mom." He looked back at Carlton. "She wants to know what you do for a living."

Carlton floundered for a moment and stared at Shawn, then at the polished rock, then back at Shawn. "Er, tell her I'm a detective."

Shawn waved his hand at the stone invitingly. "Tell her yourself."

Carlton blinked at Shawn, then turned back to the grave. "I'm a detective, ma'am."

He gave an indiginant look at the stone, then looked at Carlton again. "She wants to know if those flowers are for her, and how you put up with me."

Carlton smiled as he leaned forward to place the boquet of geraniums and chrysanthemums in the bronze vase, then answered the stone without looking at Shawn. "He makes me laugh."

-5-

"Why is everyone so surprised that we're together?" Shawn felt Carlton lift his head to stare at Shawn's hair, since he couldn't see his face.

"I'm not surprised."

Shawn smiled against Carlton's chest, while he lay on top of the older man on the couch. "You thought it was strange that first morning."

"But I wasn't surprised."

Shawn furrowed his brow and thought. He remembered their first morning waking up together (remembered the really bad hangover), and remembered how calm the detective seemed. "Why not?"

"Irish tradition." Shawn lifted his head to look at Carlton disbelievingly. "I'm serious. My grandmother was this extremely strict school teacher, while my grandfather was a calm, collected fisherman. My mother always had the house in perfect condition and would flip out if our rooms weren't clean. But my dad would get us out of the house and take us to ball games whenever he could. I take after my grandmother and mom, apparently, so I figured I was going to end up with someone really laid back and fun. Someone like you."

Shawn smiled and nodded. That made sense; balanced out the relationship. "Another tradition set by your St. Patrick?"

Carlton laughed and the rumble in his chest sent chills down Shawn's spine. "Probably before he invented the whiskey. Lord knows he'd need something to drink if he was with someone like my grandmother."

Shawn decided a kiss would get them into bed faster than telling Carlton he'd just insulted himself, but he had to stop for a second to ask a very serious question.

"Wait. Doesn't that mean you're suppose to be the woman in this relationship?"


End file.
